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The majority of “The Boy Behind the Door” finds Bobby sneaking inside and—literally, quite often—hiding behind one door or another as he skulks about, trying to find his friend while outwitting his captors. As working day turns to night plus the creaky house grows darker, the directors and cinematographer Julian Estrada use dramatic streaks of light to illuminate ominous hallways and cramped quarters. They also use silence effectively, prompting us to hold our breath just like the kids to avoid being found.
, among the most beloved films in the ’80s plus a Steven Spielberg drama, has a lot going for it: a stellar cast, including Oscar nominees Whoopi Goldberg and Oprah Winfrey, Pulitzer Prize-successful resource material plus a timeless theme of love (in this circumstance, between two women) like a haven from trauma.
It’s easy to get cynical about the meaning (or deficiency thereof) of life when your work involves chronicling — on an yearly basis, no less — if a large rodent sees his shadow in a splashy event placed on by a tiny Pennsylvania town. Harold Ramis’ 1993 classic is cunning in both its general concept (a weatherman whose live and livelihood is set by grim chance) and execution (sounds undesirable enough for sooner or later, but what said day was the only day of your life?
Beneath the glassy surfaces of nearly every Todd Haynes’ movie lives a woman pressing against them, about to break out. Julianne Moore has played two of those: a suburban housewife chained on the social order of racially segregated fifties Connecticut in “Considerably from Heaven,” and as another psychically shackled housewife, this time in 1980s Southern California, in “Safe.”
The top result of all this mishegoss is often a wonderful cult movie that displays the “Consume or be eaten” ethos of its own making in spectacularly literal manner. The demented soul of a studio film that feels like it’s been possessed through the spirit of the flesh-eating character actor, Carlyle is unforgettably feral as being a frostbitten Colonel who stumbles into Fort Spencer with a sob story about having to eat the other members of his wagon train to stay alive, while Male Pearce — just shy of his breakout achievement in “Memento” — radiates square-jawed stoicism as being a hero soldier wrestling with the definition of bravery in a very stolen country that only seems to reward brute strength.
We are able to never be sure caught assy babe holed in who’s who rae lil black in this film, and if the blood on their hands is real or even a diabolical trick. That being said, a single thing about “Lost Highway” is completely fixed: This would be the Lynch movie that’s the most of its time. Not in a bad way, of course, however the film just screams
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“Confess it isn’t all cool calculation with you – that you’ve bought a heart – even if it’s small and feeble and you'll’t remember the last time you used it,” Marcia Gay Harden’s femme fatale demands of protagonist Tom Reagan (Gabriel Byrne). And for all its steely violence, this film has a heart as well.
The people of Colobane are desperate: Anyone who’s anyone has left, its buildings neglected, its remaining leaders inept. A serious infusion of cash could really turn things around. And she makes an offer: she’ll give the town riches beyond their imagination if they conform to eliminate Dramaan.
But when someone else is responsible for creating “Mima’s Room,” how does the site’s website appear to know more about Mima’s thoughts and anxieties than she does herself? Transformatively adapted from a pulpy novel that experienced much less on its mind, “Perfect Blue” tells a DePalma-like story of violent obsession that soon accelerates into the stuff of the full-on psychic collapse (or two).
Gus Van Sant’s gloriously desichudai unhappy road deep nude movie borrows from the worlds of creator John Rechy and even the director’s individual “Mala Noche” in sketching the humanity behind trick-turning, closeted street hustlers who share an ineffable spark while in the darkness. The film underscored the already evident talents of its two leads, River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves, while also giving us all many a purpose to swoon over their indie heartthrob status.
The year Caitlyn Jenner came out like a trans woman, this Oscar-winning asianporn biopic about Einar Wegener, among the first people to undergo gender-reassignment medical procedures, helped to further more boost trans awareness and heighten visibility with the Local community.
This underground cult classic tells the story of a high school cheerleader who’s sent to conversion therapy camp after her family suspects she’s a lesbian.
Many films and television series before and after “Fargo” — not least the FX drama motivated via the film — have mined laughs from the foibles of stupid criminals and/or middle-class mannerisms. But Marge gives the original “Fargo” a humanity that’s grounded in respect for your basic, good people on the world, the kind whose constancy holds Modern society together amid the chaos of pathological liars, cold-blooded murderers, and squirrely fuck-ups in woodchippers.